


The Grass Is Always Greener

by spinward_drift



Category: Destiny (Video Games), Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Minor Violence, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-12-30 09:11:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18312602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinward_drift/pseuds/spinward_drift
Summary: Frustrated by their stymied efforts to simulate paracausal phenomena, the Vex tunnel into a neighboring universe to collect more data.





	1. Prologue

Prologue

Deep in spacetime, stretched across a dazzling network woven from the fabric of the cosmos itself, vast intangible minds touched upon a brief thought. An obstacle had arisen that they had not anticipated. A bump in the road, a mere hiccup in their plans, they had initially thought - nothing more than an outgrowth of runaway carbon chemistry which had assembled itself into a form with rudimentary intelligence. This was not particularly special, as their deep simulations told of the perpetual rise and fall of many such assemblages across this universe. It was all very much within the natural order, all to be expected. The problem was just that, however. This colony of glorified organic algorithms, this collection of thinking meats, had defied their simulations, defied their predictions, and defied the natural order. These rudimentary intelligences, in a brief moment of transcendence, became more than the sum of their parts and in doing so, became an unaccounted variable. The trouble was an attribute some of them had acquired - an inability to be simulated, the consequence of obtaining the aid of a paracausal entity. The acquisition of abilities beyond causality had rendered these creatures highly unpredictable; for all their vast intelligence, these minds had never even come close to understanding power like this before. They knew the laws of this reality, even down to their wildest fringes, but this came from beyond. No known model accounted for this and no model they could yet produce accounted for it to their satisfaction. 

This was not their first encounter with such a mystery nor was it their first attempt to understand it; in eons past they had found a way into dimensions unknown and a splinter of their intelligence had been devoted to understanding the order of these realms. Even after deducing its laws however it had only gained an incomplete knowledge of them and was ultimately lost to the master of that realm. Now, another unpredictable threat had arisen in alarmingly short order and had started to butt heads with not only this other paracausal force but the efforts of these minds as well. One unpredictable element was frustrating; two was almost infuriating. What good were their simulations in the face of that which could not be simulated? For a group intellect that sought to plumb the depths of all possible futures to find the best of all possible outcomes for their kind, it was an unacceptable obstacle. 

Another thought bloomed off of the previous one, weighty enough to give the minds a split second pause - practically an eon to them. If this system contained unpredictable elements, then even its mundane parts could be influenced by such factors, making their behavior less predictable as well, and thus, useless to simulate. In effect, the whole model, all they knew, had been contaminated. Holistic simulation of this reality was futile, they realized. What they needed then was uncontaminated data, something that could only be procured from a metaversal neighbor, a parallel universe with the same mundane laws and no paracausal interference. Within seconds a plethora of candidate parallels had been identified for observation and exploration and the responsibility for such was delegated to a series of fractal splinter minds already being grown for the purpose. Satisfied, at least for the time being, the great minds allowed their attention to drift to other matters.

 

* * *

 

EVENT LOG /log initiated [2550.04.16.05:24:45 SST]

/event monitoring flags for sol system listening feed surpass ignore threshold; collating report:

* democritus remote scanning outpost’s slipspace activity monitoring system reports significant end-spectrum slip manifold perturbations over mars; no whispers or ruptures detected. signature resembles no known profiles. system standing by for further observation.

* nishimura observatory reports tachyon burst of spontaneous origin near martian prime meridian. readings forwarded to physics department at new legaspi university for research, transmission intercepted and withheld for review by sections 1 and 2.

* meridian energy company power network sensors unanimously report interference well beyond expected thresholds with no known source. interference patterns suggest extremely high energy fluctuation over time period of several nanoseconds. data dismissed by supervisors as faulty readings, sensors slated for advance in maintenance schedule.

* mars equatorial weather monitoring systems report unusual sightings including fields of visual static, rectilinear lightning, and one (1) large unidentified object on martian surface. report withheld by chief meteorologist and forwarded to local authorities.

*local radio chatter monitoring on civil services bands shows heightened traffic in operational areas around [lat=10.314919&lon=2.285156]. radio traffic includes orders for law enforcement officers to close roads and redirect civilians; requests for militia or UNSC involvement suggested but not yet made

...initial data aggregation complete

...analyzing

* current analysis: potential extradimensional incursion, unknown agent. threat level unknown.

* comparison of data to known extraterrestrial entities: given data poses no match.

probability of covenant responsibility, 0.7%; intel on covenant technology suggests deviation from orthodoxy is strongly dispreferred; dissimilarity of unknown object and known covenant protocols makes covenant responsibility unlikely

probability of forerunner responsibility, 12.5%; given limited intel on forerunners, unknown object does not match known patterns but this cannot rule out possibility.

probability of natural occurrence, 7.52×10−7%; given combination of events not predicted in co-occurrence by any current physics models.

...creating data entry for possible third extraterrestrial entity

...conducting consequence prediction simulations

* probability forecast: threat of civil disturbance resulting from disclosure of ongoing event is unacceptably high. information suppression measures must be initiated to contain civil reactions.

…evaluating potential courses of action

* assemble and deploy reconnaissance team composed of nearest available appropriate assets - priority level alpha

* deploy section 2 information sanitization agents for ongoing infosec measures

* evaluate media environment for potential scapegoat (initial targets suggested: insurrection agents, weapons manufacturing, weather, industrial accident) and provide narrative suggestions to section 2 agents

* notify navspecwar of ongoing event, need for asset requisition

* stand by for continued monitoring

...implementing

/log end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> never used this site before, but here goes. the prologue and first chapter are done, while the next few chapters need some more editing and further work and should be out in a few weeks


	2. Briefing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gonna get this disclaimer out of the way before the chapter starts - I've never been in the military, and as those familiar with it will probably be able to tell from reading this chapter and the next, I have no idea how it works. I'm making guesses and taking some artistic liberties with military organization and customs for the sake of drama. also idk how to get indents or formatting to work so I hope that looks fine

OFFICE OF NAVAL INTELLIGENCE LISTENING POST “IVY SHORE”  
HELLAS PLANITIA  
MARS  
06:05 SST

Marks was still knocking back his third coffee of the morning, achieving only heart palpitations but no increase in wakefulness, when his tacpad went off. He blinked heavily, hoping to grant his bleary eyes a moment of respite before turning them to whatever it was that needed his attention. Shutting his eyes did him no favors; they still stung with sleep deprivation. He opened them again and cast his gaze toward the tacpad.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

//SECTION 1 PERSONNEL APPROPRIATION NOTICE. PRIORITY ALPHA. FLAG CONDITION P-45-CC8. EVENT CODE ‘MISTRAL’ DECLARED. REPORT TO MAJOR GIBBS AT 0815 SST AT ECHO SITE, MARE ERYTHRAEUM FOR BRIEFING AND FIELD DEPLOYMENT TO MERIDIAN BAY. TRANSPORTATION PRE-ARRANGED.//

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He choked on his coffee, sputtering and coughing as alarm bells went off in his head. He tried to process what he was reading - what the hell was he being given a priority field deployment notice for? And on here on Mars, in the heart of the Inner Colonies?

The shock had woken him up more than the coffee possibly could have. His mind raced - the notice included a code indicating he'd been selected for this by ONI's internal flagging system, which prioritized personnel selection for deployments based on a constellation of factors including clearance and expertise. The system was one of many operated by AI to analyze the traffic of the department’s extensive surveillance networks and manage personnel records. It was a grotesquely complicated system that they had nonetheless come to rely on, even in spite of its growth into what was effectively a black box. Only the most arcane systems scientists, programmers, and engineers understood the inner workings of the system. In short, it managed the herculean task of vetting personnel, flagging potential information leaks, analyzing psych profiles, and formulating ideal deployment rosters based on nearly any parameter an ONI operative could dream up. What this meant, functionally, was that an officer could hand off appropriation requests to the system and receive an exhaustive list of candidates tailored to any and all conceivable mission parameters within minutes.

Marks, however, had been shit-canned. Burned. His superiors had put a fat black mark on his record and relegated him to a desk job analyzing field intel after a mishap on a recon mission severely embarrassed someone higher up on the food chain. They couldn't fire him, not with all the stuff he knew, but they could assign him rubber-stamp busywork to fill out for the next several years. To be pulled for fieldwork after all that indicated something unusual was afoot. Was it Forerunner related? He was acquainted with Forerunner languages and some of their technology, but the codes in the notice indicated nothing related to Forerunner discoveries. Not only that, but the few sites on Mars were already well taken care of and certainly in no need of a fuckup like him. The circumstances of the notice were curious too - the brief was due to occur in only two hours, the shortest interval he'd ever been deployed at. The shortest he'd ever heard anyone in his section deploy at in almost a decade, as a matter of fact. It meant that whatever this was, it was relatively close by, as they had to factor in travel time to the notice.

He opened the brief and skipped through to the personnel assignment section, finding precisely zero names he recognized. He furrowed his brows - it wasn’t unusual to be deployed on teams with people he’d never met, but it would be interesting to see who the system had deemed appropriate for this assignment. It was a shame he couldn’t look any of them up, he thought. One of the perks he’d lost during his little fall from grace was access to viewing personnel profiles below his clearance. Looking at the names here, most of them just seemed to be ODSTs or specialists like him. He had no qualms working with crazy sons of bitches like them - in truth, a mission with ODSTs was rarely a dull one - but seeing the composition consist mostly of combat personnel gave him a sneaking feeling that they’d be facing danger. What were they expecting if they were sending in a combat-ready team for recon, made of people thrown together at the last minute?

Deep in his gray matter a little voice wormed its way into his consciousness and began to whisper things that made him shudder a little, plucking at his synapses to render a discordant symphony of repressed memories. His parents’ home on Harvest, receding in the distance as they fled in a militia vehicle. The pandemonium and dread of the evacuation efforts. The acrid smell of smokeless powder and air ionized by plasma fire.  He was there when it started, only a small child but exposed firsthand to the desolation the Covenant could wreak. He’d engaged them in countless combat encounters in the years since he’d joined the UNSC and had become inured to the horrors of the battlefield, but the possibility of facing another invasion so close to home was a possibility that struck his nerves raw. He tried to banish the memories from his thoughts, reminding himself of the present, that there were tasks at hand that needed his attention. No time to dwell on the past. He could worry about the worst case scenarios later.

He set his half-finished coffee on his desk and locked his workstation before rifling through his desk drawer and tossing some assorted crap into his bag. Most of it was utility stuff - a knife, a multitool, that kind of thing - but his eyes passed over some of the more unusual “toys” hiding at the bottom of his desk drawers. Some of it had come in handy in the past, and as he prepared to face a major unknown, he began to think that a couple pounds of high-tech tricks-up-his-sleeve wouldn’t go amiss. Having them on hand set him at ease a little. He sighed and placed them gently into his bag.

ONI ECHO SITE  
MARE ERYTHRAEUM  
MARS  
08:12 SST

It was a rare occasion for Hector Delacruz. For once, he was the first to arrive at a briefing. It was both a surprise as well as a source of unease - he wished he had someone to crack jokes at and ease the tension, help get his mind off of the coming mission. He instead took to whistling and inspecting the briefing room for something, anything of interest, only to find it lacking, save for a large screen displaying feeds from various levels of local news around Mars. He could have been reading the brief, of course, but he felt no need to. Nine times out of ten, it just said the same shit that the guy giving the briefing was going to say, and he was the kind of person that preferred hearing it from someone’s mouth rather than going and reading it for himself. Besides,  he liked to ask questions, and it wasn't as if the paper would answer him. 

He did wonder about the notice, however. He didn’t know a whole lot about what was going on - he'd noticed some stuff on the news on the drive in but little of substance was being reported at the time, just mentions of a disturbance - but he could piece a few things together. For example, he was currently deployed to Mars as a training advisor for the UNSC garrison at Mare Erythraeum. The notice, effectively a temporary draft within the service, had come all the way from the Office of Naval Intelligence. He was no stranger to them, having worked on a few missions with Section 1 oversight, but he was by no means one of their people and it had been a long time since he had received a notice like this. They were pulling him for something specific, he could guess with reasonable confidence, but exactly what that was was beyond him.

The door slid open with a muffled * _ksshhh_ * and in walked a woman in a BDU. It took a second of searching his memory but Delacruz recognized her - Farida Nazeri, the electronic warfare specialist in several operations they had both taken part in a few years back. Her recognition of him outpaced his own reaction and she walked over and gave him a half wave in greeting.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she said. She held out an open hand and they did a quick slap-and-shake.

“Same. You hear what we're here for?”

“Still not reading the briefings, I see.”

“Hey, sue me for wanting to hear it out of someone's mouth”

She gestured at the screen. The news was now running a developing story about insurrectionist activity on Mars. The B-roll showed lots of closed roads and stock footage of Misriah Armory facilities, but nothing more revealing. Delacruz squinted at the screen, incredulous.

“Innies? We're being pulled for fuckin’ Innies? Shouldn't the cops or the marines be handling that? What… what the hell are insurrectionists doing here anyway?”

“It's not insurrectionists, that’s the thing. Something weird landed here. Remember the recall code?” She was referring to the flag condition in the notice each of them had received.

“Yeah? Well, no. Not really? Didn't pay it much mind, I don't know what most of the codes mean anyway.”

“It was a clearance thing. It's because we've got a record for handling weird stuff.”

“What, you mean like…” His mind wandered back to the operations they'd been on together, plus a couple more before that had first earned him ONI’s attention. They'd all involved some ask-no-questions type shit. Stuff like alien ruins that looked nothing like the Covenant’s style, lying dormant beneath a prospective colony site. Stuff like accompanying Section 3 eggheads into hot zones to dig up unusual shipwrecks before the Covenant came knocking. They always gave him the standard debriefing battery of questions after those missions, what do you think you saw, did anything unusual happen, who or what were you fighting, but he was a man of his word and when they asked him if he'd remember any of what happened if someone asked, he gave them a truthful no. Being pulled back into ONI’s demesne meant that they were recalling him for more weird secretive shit, and whatever it was - judging by what was going on now - it would be serious.

“Oh. Like that little shindig on Gamma Serpentis III. That kind of weird?”

“Yeah.”

He shook his head and returned his gaze to the news for a moment. The Section 2 boys were already hard at work spinning narratives, it appeared.

It wasn't long before more people filed in. Around nine total, enough for all gathered at present to form two fire teams. Most of them looked like ODSTs; solidly built and eyes agleam with an alertness that spoke to an ingrained readiness to fight. The others were likely specialists of some kind. The last to enter was a disheveled looking man awkwardly balancing a backpack and a shoulder bag. Delacruz would have mistaken the guy for a technician lost on his way to the server room if it wasn't for the patch on his shoulder with a stylized Eye of Providence, the seal of the Office of Naval Intelligence. He mumbled some excuses as he came in through the door and made some joke which no one heard, which he chuckled at as he set down some of his bags.

The last person to enter was a man in crisply-pressed uniform, commanding the attention of everyone present. The name patch on his breast pocket read GIBBS and the golden leaf on his shoulder prompted those gathered to straighten up and salute, though he waved them down as he walked to the projector console and logged in.

Gibbs did a quick headcount and double-checked his tacpad. “Alright, all here. I'm assuming you all read the preliminary report but you're all probably still wondering what the hell is going on. At 0524 hours Sol Standard Time, a series of anomalous events tripped the collocation threshold of one of the HUGINN system surveillance AIs and initiated its report collation protocols. Lots of high energy readings, exotic particle emissions, a possible wormhole, and visual sightings of an object near Meridian Bay, what we believe to be an alien vessel of unknown origin. At 0547 hours the object touched down on the Martian surface and began extending structures into the soil and rock. It's been parked there for several hours now, and in the meantime Section 2 agents have been deployed to contain and suppress media coverage while Section 1 drones have been deployed to survey the object and its landing site. The scans have been difficult to make sense of; the thing is dense and riddled with cavities but doesn't seem to be built like a ship. There's no recognizable signs of life onboard either, but that's not to discount a possible intelligence.

“Drone flybys haven't been able to reveal much, which is where you all come in. You will scout the perimeter, and if there is no hostile presence, attempt to gain entry. We need to figure out what this thing is and what we can do about it. We can't afford to have this thing sitting on the outskirts of an urban center - at best it'll cause panic in the civilian populace and at worst it's hostile. I don't think I need to explain how much worse things can get if it *is* hostile. Questions?”

No hands went up at first. It was a lot to take in - everyone was painfully familiar with the Covenant and their star-spanning campaign of total annihilation; the possibility of encountering another alien race brought with it a certain amount of fear at facing the same thing once more. To face the unknown again in so stark a confrontation, a reminder of how little humanity truly knew of what lurked in the infinite void… it set the hearts of even the bravest among them beating at a quickened pace.

A hand extended into the air from the back of the group. Everyone turned their heads; it was the guy who had come into the room last. “Yeah, so, you said it was of ‘unknown origin?’ It's not, uh…” He quickly looked around at the gathered people, as if doing some mental math. “...not Covenant or Forerunner?” The last word drew quizzical looks from some and side-eyes from others. “I mean, I figured from the recall notice that you folks were in the know, eh?”

Gibbs pinched his brow with the tips of his fingers. The debriefing for this mission was already shaping up to be a pain in the ass. “We don't know, strictly speaking. We can't rule it out given what little we do know, but the architecture matches no known profiles. Sensor readings show remarkably little match with known baselines either. Knowing what we do about the Covenant and how lazy they are about innovating their technology, I'd be shocked if it was theirs. That said, if you do find something that proves otherwise, report it. Anyone else?”

Delacruz put up his hand, giving it a little half wave at Gibbs. “Alright, guess I'll ask what we're all wondering. Suppose they're not friendly? Like we waltz in and find out they're not too happy about us setting up a picnic on their front lawn, so they decide to give us a big ol “fuck you”.”

Gibbs nodded grimly. “You are only to reconnoiter the area. If danger presents itself you are to fall back immediately so we can proceed to the next phase; act *only* in self defense if necessary. Is that clear?”

It was. They all more or less knew they'd be walking straight into the lion’s den on this one.

Nazeri gave Delacruz a tap on the elbow as the group left the briefing room to hit up the equipment lockers. She walked just slow enough to lag behind everyone else as they walked and it only took a few back-and-forth glances for him to get that she wanted to follow behind and talk.

“So,” she said quietly, “ODSTs, a few specialists, and a Section 1 desk jockey. Kind of an unassuming lineup?”

Delacruz shrugged. “Makes sense. Most of us are combat support, with a pencil pusher tagging along to make sure we don't fuck up the important stuff. Par for the course. Homeboy sounds like he knows a thing or two above our pay grade too.”

“You figure that's a good thing?”

“Fuck nah, you know how ONI spooks are. Sooner shoot you in the back than let a secret slip or let one of their toys get broken. So long as we don’t get in the way we should be fine though.”

Nazeri snorted. “Right, easy. Don’t get interfere with an objective you’re completely in the dark about and you’ll be fine.”

“This doesn't seem like one of those missions though. The brass sound like they're in the dark as much as any of us. No cloak and dagger business.”

“Hmm. What about the others?”

Delacruz surveyed his teammates from behind as they walked. “Staff Sergeant Holbrook aaaand… the medic, Specialist Oduwole. I’ve worked with Holbrook before, dependable guy. Bit uh… by the book, I guess, but I don’t really mind. Not sure about the medic, but I see some grey in her hair. Lady looks tough as nails.”

Being an ODST wasn’t the kind of job you got old doing. The grey was more likely from the incredible stress of dropping into combat from orbit than it was from age, but for that to be the case she would have to have racked up an extensive mission record. She was either phenomenally lucky or extremely competent. They hoped that it was the latter.

The quartermaster waved them in when they approached and immediately set to work doling out equipment packages; much of their gear had already been prepared before they had arrived.

Ade Oduwole watched the other members of her fireteam as they equipped themselves. She had seen this scene play out countless times in the past, over nearly… how many years had it been? The cryosleep made it difficult to reckon age sometimes. Slipspace travel was faster than light but not instantaneous, so travel frequently took weeks, even occasionally a month or so if the location was remote, and over time those hours in the cryo tubes added up. It did no favors for her perception of time, already muddled and frayed by the weariness of fighting a losing war. Years would pass like water through a sieve; she no longer bothered to check in with family or friends when on home leave. Too many had moved on with their lives or died fighting the Covenant while she was shipped from mission to mission in suspended animation.

She watched Marks pick up a designated marksman rifle and give it a quick inspection before walking over to him.

“First choice?” she said, nodding at the rifle.

He shrugged and smiled a little. “I prefer to keep my distance when possible.”

“Wise. My father used to say the best kind of fight is the one you’re not in. Staying in the back means I shouldn’t have to worry about you getting hit. I’d hate to have to coddle you.” She paused for a moment, then leaned in closer and with a lowered voice said, “I’ve heard of you before. Just in passing, mind you.”

Marks continued to don his gear as if this was a perfectly genial conversation. “Yeah? And what have you heard?”

She waited until he glanced up and looked him in the eye. “Nothing good,” she said and returned to her equipment.

Great, Marks thought. He apparently had a reputation, and it had preceded him.

Having kitted themselves out, the two fireteams headed to the hangar, where a Falcon and a Pelican loaded with a Warthog in back awaited them. They piled into their respective aircraft and made ready to meet the unknown.

**Author's Note:**

> I chose not to use the "graphic depictions of violence" warning because I'm not sure what the threshold for graphic is, but the story does contain violence. Content warnings will be placed at the beginning of chapters that contain
> 
> Also, special thanks to Halopedia and Ishtar Collective for hosting their respective lore compilations, without them this wouldn't have been possible.


End file.
